Gemotions

The attic felt like a tomb. I felt the slow tightening of my chest as I looked at the old photo albums. My sister, Rachel, was busy sorting through boxes, but I couldn't seem to focus.

The air was thick with the scent of decay. A dull ache throbbed behind my eyes. I felt a growing restlessness, a need to escape. The enormity of the inheritance, of the decisions that loomed, was crushing.

I tried to focus on something, anything, other than the weight of the past. But it was no use. It was all a swirling vortex. I ran my hands through my hair, feeling the strands catch in my fingers, pulling at my scalp.